Trainer – 1, Dumb Owner – 0

December 3, 2011

It seemed so simple.

My car was parked right in front of the gate to the dog park, and the parking lot was empty save for my white Ford Escape. The sun was already well below the horizon and the rapidly fading light told me that no one else was going to be coming our way. Letting my dog walk from the park gate to the car off leash would be a piece of cake. After all, he always runs straight from the car to the gate when we arrive. This was the same pattern, only in reverse.

So, I opened the gate and headed for the car, confident that Cooper would stick right beside me.

I had barely taken two steps toward the car when I caught sight of Cooper’s brown and tan tail as he ran past me to start exploring the far edge of the parking lot. I’m not sure how long my mind took to register that he was actually running away from me, but he was pretty much around the corner of the lot, heading down a driveway, before I could even utter the his name.

He, of course, completely ignored me.

As I ran after him, calling his name, all I could think was, “This is why I call him ‘Little Shit.'”

Yes, that’s right — “Little Shit.”

Either that or “Little Stinker” or “Little Stink Butt” … well, I also call him “Cooper Pooper,” but that’s for entirely different reasons.

Finally, as Cooper continued to run around the edge of the parking lot, sniffing hedges and ignoring me, a single command entered my frantic brain: “STOP!”

Cooper immediately slid to a stop and looked at me.

I took a deep breath and several steps forward. Seeing his tail wag, I told him to “sit,” afraid he would mistake this for a game and run off. To my surprise, he planted his butt on the ground and stayed in place.

As I stepped forward and snagged Cooper’s collar, I said a small thanks to all of the dog classes I invested in over the past year. I have said it before and will say it again: The only reason Cooper is alive is because we had an amazing trainer. Today was no exception.